


Giveaway Fic #5 - First Time/Trapped in a Theatre

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Costumes, First Kiss, First Time, John is a hot cowboy, M/M, Not a stripper though, Smut, Trapped in a theatre, but hey, inexplicably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are we stuck here all night, then?”</p>
<p>Sherlock’s annoyance comes through loud and clear. “Apparently, yes. Lestrade didn’t tell the cleaners not to lock up after they left, and now… This is probably his idea of a prank, actually.”</p>
<p>John snorts. “Pretty shit prank, if you ask me.” </p>
<p>They stare at each other until John starts to squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He points his thumb towards the lobby.</p>
<p>“Wanna raid the snack machines?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giveaway Fic #5 - First Time/Trapped in a Theatre

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> So this one is for **[@kayjaykayme](http://kayjaykayme.tumblr.com)** , who asked for:  
>  _John and Sherlock are on a case and accidentally get locked in a theater overnight they get bored and start messing around with the costumes…fun first? kiss/time_
> 
> Hope you like it, and thank you for the follow <3

Sherlock creeps onstage just as the ominous clunk of a door closing and locking sounds in the theatre. They both freeze. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock doesn’t respond, just rushes towards the two main exits and tries the doors. They shake under his weight, but don’t budge. John starts to feel like this is going to be a long evening. He sits down in one of the seats, watching as Sherlock flits about the room, trying this door and that fruitlessly. 

Eventually, he comes back to stand in front of John.

“Are we stuck here all night, then?”

Sherlock’s annoyance comes through loud and clear. “Apparently, yes. Lestrade didn’t tell the cleaners not to lock up after they left, and now… This is probably his idea of a prank, actually.”

John snorts. “Pretty shit prank, if you ask me.” 

They stare at each other until John starts to squirm uncomfortably in his chair. He points his thumb towards the lobby.

“Wanna raid the snack machines?”

***  
An hour later and three Dairy Milk bars each, they wander back into the theatre. 

“Now what? Were you done looking around?” John asks around his last mouthful. He mournfully eyes the empty wrapper left in his hand.

Sherlock glances around the empty theatre, then nods. “Unfortunately, yes. I was just about to suggest we leave, actually.”

John crumples the wrapper and bins it near the door. “Shit. Anywhere we could sleep, then?”

Sherlock shuffles his feet awkwardly. John looks up at him, waiting. “What?”

“I was just thinking… Maybe we could— Never mind. It’s stupid.”

John’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Sherlock, we’ve been accidentally locked in an empty theatre overnight. Nothing could be more stupid. What is it?”

Sherlock takes a breath. “Do you want to sneak backstage?”

***  
Finding the costume storage, as it turns out, is not as hard as one would think; they end up following the trail of forgotten wigs and discarded garments to a vast closet full of a wide assortment of clothes. The show currently being put on is a huge dance production involving several different styles, which means the closet is fully stocked with all shapes and sizes of nearly every costume imaginable. 

Sherlock walks up and down the closet, hand out, touching each piece of fabric in fascination. John watches him, secretly loving the delicate way he strokes each piece, the way his eyes light up when he catches sight of something he particularly likes. 

“Put one on,” John says before he can stop himself. Sherlock turns towards him, surprised. 

“What?”

“Put one on! Come on, Sherlock, I can see how you’re staring at them! We’re here all night, might as well have some fun.”

Sherlock fingers the costume in his hand hesitantly. “Really?”

“Come on. Then you can pick one out for me.”

Sherlock’s eyes light up at this, a dangerous glint in them, and John makes a mental note to take his mobile away before he tries it on to avoid future embarrassment. He turns around to let Sherlock get dressed. 

He hears Sherlock’s silk shirt slip down the skin of his shoulders and fights the urge to turn back and see Sherlock’s miles of pale skin being revealed inch by inch. Sherlock has a tall, graceful form, and John would give anything to touch, kiss—

“Okay,” Sherlock says, and John jumps, torn away from his thoughts. He turns, then immediately stops breathing.

Sherlock has chosen a black shirt with wide sleeves and a mandarin collar, which does nothing but emphasize the length of his long neck. The bottoms are tighter, some sort of dancer’s tights, and the darkness of the entire outfit turns his eyes into two bright spots of colour dancing above the collar. The shirt buttons are all pearls, but they’re not white; they’re the same stormy grey as Sherlock’s eyes, and John doesn’t know where to look. 

Beneath it all, Sherlock is barefoot, which brings a sort of _humanity_ to the outfit that makes John want to hug Sherlock to him and never let him go. 

“John?” Sherlock whispers. John realizes he’s been staring for much longer than is strictly appropriate for two platonic best friends. He shakes his head. 

“Sorry, you just—.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” John says instead, cringing at his own cowardice. “What’d you pick out for me?”

Sherlock looks like wants to say something; he opens his mouth, takes a step towards John, then seems to think better of it. He turns instead towards the racks and racks of clothing around him.

“Hmm. I’m not sure if I want something for the entertainment value or if I want you to be happy,” he says thoughtfully, rejecting several outfits and sliding them back down the rack. 

“You’re making me nervous,” John says. Sherlock finally settles on something, his mouth quirking up into not-quite-a-smirk, but still a worrying expression for John. 

“What?”

“I think I’ve got it,” Sherlock says. He pulls out a covered outfit and hands it to John. “I’ll just go stand over here ‘til you’re done.”

He saunters away, his shirt billowing out like a cape and letting John catch a small glimpse of the smooth skin at the small of his back. John forces his mouth shut before he starts drooling on the carpet.

He unzips the plastic cover on the suit, trying to ignore Sherlock’s snickers as he does. He tugs on the hanger, pushing the cover down onto the floor to reveal—

John throws his head back and laughs. “You’re such a prat.”

“Put it on,” Sherlock says, his voice perfectly serious, but John can see his shoulders shaking with mirth. He shakes his fist at Sherlock’s back, then tugs off his jumper to put on the red checkered flannel shirt, which is, of course, exactly his size. He’s still not sure how Sherlock does it.

He painstakingly buttons it up, then starts unzipping his trousers to get into the dark jeans Sherlock has chosen. They’re a bit tighter than expected (John isn’t sure if Sherlock meant them to be), and hug his thighs and arse a little more than he’s usually comfortable with in a pair of jeans. He tucks in the flannel shirt. 

He reaches into the bag to pull out the final part of the costume: the cowboy hat. He jams it on his head, taking care not to get his ears caught in the rough material. His chest is already shaking with laughter. 

“Okay,” he says, barely able to get words out through his suppressed giggles.

Sherlock turns, then immediately grips his belly as he bends nearly in half, laughing harder than John has ever seen. His entire body is shaking, and the sheer _joy_ emanating from his every movement just makes him all the more beautiful; John can’t make himself look away. 

Eventually, the laughter slows to giggles, and both of them are reduced to incredibly wide smiles with the occasional hiccup. 

John looks up at Sherlock, and their eyes meet.

They both abruptly stop laughing.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock clears his throat awkwardly. “The costume is… not as unappealing as I had intended,” Sherlock says. He immediately looks away. 

John looks down at himself, at his completely ridiculous cowboy outfit, but eventually catches on to what Sherlock was looking at: the overly-tight jeans. Something like hope blooms in his chest.

He reaches up, slips two fingers under Sherlock’s chin, and turns his head back towards him. Sherlock’s eyes widen. 

“Earlier. When I— What I wanted to say was—.”

Sherlock’s gaze drops to the floor again. He looks like he’s about to ward off a blow, and something twists deep in John’s chest. 

“You look beautiful like this. Well. Not just like this. You always do, really, there’s just something about the collar that just—.”

He stops when he finally sees how Sherlock is looking at him. 

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock whispers, awed. 

Their gazes lock, and John feels like he’s drowning in a thunderstorm. Sherlock’s eyes bore into his. John slowly tilts his head so that their lips align, pushing up onto his toes to accommodate their height difference.

“Can I?” he whispers. Sherlock’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“What do you want to do?” Sherlock whispers back. 

“Kiss you,” John murmurs, and Sherlock surges downwards to meet him in a simple, chaste kiss, the searing heat in their lips the only point of contact between them. It goes on for a blissful eternity before John pulls away. 

“So that’s a yes?” he asks cheekily, smiling up at Sherlock, and Sherlock makes a noise somewhere deep in the back of his throat before crashing their lips together and pushing John backwards into the clothes rack. John groans at his enthusiasm, the dancer’s tights leaving nothing to the imagination.

John licks along the seam of Sherlock’s lips until he opens them with a moan, letting John explore his mouth. Sherlock pushes himself against John harder and harder, until John loses his balance and they end up on the floor, Sherlock on top of John, lost in draping gowns and sweeping capes. 

John pushes up on his elbows to suck a mark low on Sherlock’s neck, just above the flat collar of his shirt, and Sherlock slumps down against him, his hips rutting into John’s as he whimpers into John’s shoulder. John pushes his own hips upwards, meeting Sherlock’s thrust for thrust. Sherlock throws his head back and moans when they meet at a particularly good angle; John takes advantage of the new position to pinch at Sherlock’s nipples through his shirt, making him cry out sharply and collapse on top of John, shaking.

“John!” he gasps out. “I’m close—.”

John reaches lower and grasps at him through the thin material over his groin. Sherlock’s mouth drops open soundlessly and his eyes roll back in his head as his hips start to thrust involuntarily into John’s hand. John’s own neglected cock strains against his zipper. 

“You like that, love?” he whispers when Sherlock’s head drops down near his mouth. Sherlock nods frantically, his hips completely out of his own control, and John bites down gently at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Sherlock’s eyes fly open as all of his muscles contract. John watches, hypnotized, as his body starts to tremble and he feels a wetness form in the front of the tights. Sherlock lets out a long, low moan before collapsing against him, still shaking slightly.

John desperately reaches for his flies, but Sherlock seems to rouse himself and bats his hand away. 

“Let me,” he says, and John watches as Sherlock reaches into the jeans and rubs delicately at the head of his cock. John’s head flies back so fast that he nearly slams it into the floor.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock barely manages a few strokes before John is coming in his costume, groaning. Sherlock collapses back on top of him, sated. 

It’s a few minutes before either of them moves. 

“Sherlock.”

“Mm.”

“Sherlock.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Sherlock! We’ve just destroyed two sets of dance costumes and vandalized a closet. We can’t stay here!”

Sherlock’s eyes open slowly. “Oh. Right.”

He scrambles up, dragging John and their clothes with him. He searches two of the dresses on the ground before triumphantly holding up his find: two hair pins. John frantically does up his flies as they rush about, trying to find a door with a lock they can pick. 

The only workable one ends up being the stage door; Sherlock fiddles with the lock for much too long before they manage to burst through into the cool pre-dawn air. 

Sherlock makes to rush out, but John plucks at his sleeve. “Hey.”

Sherlock turns around.

“I love you,” John blurts out before he loses his nerve. 

Sherlock blushes. “I love you, too, John.”

And they grin wildly at each other once before rushing out into the night, desperate for a cab.


End file.
